Chapter One: ‘The Gypsy’s Prophecy: 1955’
Our story of the Lanigan legacy began many years ago in the village of Portlaw, County Waterford.
It is a hot, Wednesday afternoon around 3.00 pm, during the first week of July 1955. The heat of the sun is beating down with a fierceness that a hundred angry nuns could never show; obliging the young men to walk around without a shirt on their back, and the young women to wear loose covering garments, far less modest than is customarily worn with innocent intention.
Married housewives and mothers are stood outside their doors talking to their neighbours and watching the two quiet streets that run through the village centre and meets up with the Square.
While ordinarily their wifely and motherly appearances are governed by a more usual element of marital respectability, the heat of the afternoon sun has encouraged them to hoist up their hemlines as far as modesty will allow. Their dresses have been bunched up above their knees, tied in a knot; allowing the breeze to get to their legs and creep up through the pockets of the dress folds to cool their female undercarriage.
Portlaw is its usual quiet self and will remain so until the factory hooter breaks the silence at 5.30 pm, when one hundred and sixty workers end their day’s labour and march back home through the factory gates.
It is a hot, Wednesday afternoon around 3.00 pm, during the first week of July 1955. The heat of the sun is beating down with a fierceness that a hundred angry nuns could never show; obliging the young men to walk around without a shirt on their back, and the young women to wear loose covering garments, far less modest than is customarily worn with innocent intention.
Married housewives and mothers are stood outside their doors talking to their neighbours and watching the two quiet streets that run through the village centre and meets up with the Square.
While ordinarily their wifely and motherly appearances are governed by a more usual element of marital respectability, the heat of the afternoon sun has encouraged them to hoist up their hemlines as far as modesty will allow. Their dresses have been bunched up above their knees, tied in a knot; allowing the breeze to get to their legs and creep up through the pockets of the dress folds to cool their female undercarriage.
Portlaw is its usual quiet self and will remain so until the factory hooter breaks the silence at 5.30 pm, when one hundred and sixty workers end their day’s labour and march back home through the factory gates.
~~~~~
The hooter is heard twice daily; at both start and end of the working shift. It has kept its accuracy to the second since the Tannery was opened in September 1935 and most village clocks and watches are set by it.
Conditions for the tannery workers leave much to be desired. Except for grave accident, acute illness, or family death, no worker can leave the factory once they have clocked in, until the end-of-shift hooter sounds at 5.30 pm. Mid-day sandwiches are eaten by the side of one’s machine between noon and 12.20 pm.
There are only two toilets for over 160 workers to use and being absent from one’s machine for over five minutes at any time of the day results in fifteen minute’s losses of earnings.
A new worker soon learns that while he can usually piss for free at work, it costs too much not to shit at home!
The strictly imposed rules that all workers must observe, reflect the stinginess of the Tannery bosses, and reveals their primary aim of placing the profit of its shareholders over and above the wages and conditions of its workforce.
Even the end-of-day hooter has been timed to ensure that the worker’s five-minute minimum walk from their machines to the factory gates occurs in their own time.
Except for a few dozen workers who are occupied elsewhere in Portlaw, the Tannery has a monopoly over the local workforce; it being the only major employer. If a villager doesn’t work in Portlaw, they have an 8-mile journey into the town of Carrick-on-Suir or a 12-mile journey into Waterford City daily to do alternative work.
Conditions for the tannery workers leave much to be desired. Except for grave accident, acute illness, or family death, no worker can leave the factory once they have clocked in, until the end-of-shift hooter sounds at 5.30 pm. Mid-day sandwiches are eaten by the side of one’s machine between noon and 12.20 pm.
There are only two toilets for over 160 workers to use and being absent from one’s machine for over five minutes at any time of the day results in fifteen minute’s losses of earnings.
A new worker soon learns that while he can usually piss for free at work, it costs too much not to shit at home!
The strictly imposed rules that all workers must observe, reflect the stinginess of the Tannery bosses, and reveals their primary aim of placing the profit of its shareholders over and above the wages and conditions of its workforce.
Even the end-of-day hooter has been timed to ensure that the worker’s five-minute minimum walk from their machines to the factory gates occurs in their own time.
Except for a few dozen workers who are occupied elsewhere in Portlaw, the Tannery has a monopoly over the local workforce; it being the only major employer. If a villager doesn’t work in Portlaw, they have an 8-mile journey into the town of Carrick-on-Suir or a 12-mile journey into Waterford City daily to do alternative work.
~~~~~
Newly-wed Lizzy Lanigan (Nee Forde), hums a tune as she works inside her house, preparing the meal for her husband, Mick, when he comes home from the Tannery.
Lizzy and Mick Lanigan have only been married for three months and are still settling into their small terraced property in William Street.
The couple originally hailed from Kilkenny, but the house they had planned to rent to start off their married life in was taken off the rental market at the last-minute. The property was instead sold to an Irish man who’d spent twenty years working in the steel works of Pittsburgh. He had recently returned to his city of birth in Kilkenny with a wife and a pocketful of money to burn.
After a last-minute frantic search, Mick Lanigan and his intended bride secured rented property thirty-two miles away from Kilkenny in the village of Portlaw.
Mick Lanigan and Lizzy Forde married in St Joseph’s Catholic Church in Kilkenny, and after a two-day honeymoon break in Clonmel they moved into their Portlaw property. The couple started married life as most newly-weds do; with little money, a few sticks of furniture comprising of bed, table, and chairs, and hope for a happy marriage and a healthy family in the years ahead.
Mick had been lucky enough to secure work at the Portlaw Tannery, to start one week after arriving in Portlaw with his newly-wed bride. His weekly wage would start at £9-7-6d and rise to £10-2-6d after a probationary period of three months had been satisfactorily negotiated.
Lizzy and Mick Lanigan have only been married for three months and are still settling into their small terraced property in William Street.
The couple originally hailed from Kilkenny, but the house they had planned to rent to start off their married life in was taken off the rental market at the last-minute. The property was instead sold to an Irish man who’d spent twenty years working in the steel works of Pittsburgh. He had recently returned to his city of birth in Kilkenny with a wife and a pocketful of money to burn.
After a last-minute frantic search, Mick Lanigan and his intended bride secured rented property thirty-two miles away from Kilkenny in the village of Portlaw.
Mick Lanigan and Lizzy Forde married in St Joseph’s Catholic Church in Kilkenny, and after a two-day honeymoon break in Clonmel they moved into their Portlaw property. The couple started married life as most newly-weds do; with little money, a few sticks of furniture comprising of bed, table, and chairs, and hope for a happy marriage and a healthy family in the years ahead.
Mick had been lucky enough to secure work at the Portlaw Tannery, to start one week after arriving in Portlaw with his newly-wed bride. His weekly wage would start at £9-7-6d and rise to £10-2-6d after a probationary period of three months had been satisfactorily negotiated.
~~~~~
Lizzy was peeling tatties in the kitchen when she heard the gate to her back yard open and close. She looked out of her window and saw a gypsy walking towards the opened back door, carrying a basket of wooden pegs.
The gypsy was dressed in garments made from a rough-sacking material that had either been fashioned and designed for hard wearing whatever the weather or made to illicit sympathy from the householders she sold her wares to. Given her hard life travelling the road, it was difficult to know if she was in her forties or fifties. Her skin was the colour of Mediterranean brown and her black hair that reached down to waist level was the longest Lizzy had ever seen.
“Hello, Missus,” said the gypsy woman politely announcing herself. “Will the pretty lady buy some pegs from a true Romany?” she asked.
Lizzy was somewhat amused at the way the gypsy had phrased her question; ‘Will the pretty lady buy some pegs?’ as opposed to, ‘Does the pretty lady want to buy some pegs?’
There appeared to be an unspoken understanding that were any pegs bought that afternoon, they would be purchased because of ‘who’ was selling them, as opposed to whether they were needed or not!
Lizzy had been reared in a household seeped in superstition and Irish folklore. One thing her mother had always impressed upon her was never to turn away a true Romany empty-handed if you wanted to avoid bad luck for the next seven years. Lizzy had grown up being repeatedly told that to offend a true Romany was to invite a lifelong curse, whereas to offer kindness often resulted in a blessing and good fortune for the immediate year ahead.
Being unaware whether the woman was a true Romany or just a travelling tinker masquerading as the genuine article, Lizzy decided to play safe. She opened her purse and finding it two-thirds empty, she placed one shilling in the gypsy’s hand and bought six wooden clothes pegs.
“You can have a reading for another two shillings,” the traveller said, adding, “Rosie’s readings have never been known to be wrong!”
Lizzy looked inside her purse to check its contents once more. She still had another two days to get through on the little money she had left until Mick’s next wage was due. Her purse contained coins totalling five shillings and tuppence; every penny of which was needed for food, plus other essential items.
Just as Lizzy was about to decline the reading of her palm and the telling of her fortune; sensing that she was only going to get one shilling from this house, the gypsy said, “Okay then, Lady. Today’s your lucky day. Cross my palm with one more shilling only and I’ll tell you about your firstborn.”
The mention of her ‘firstborn’ was enough to sway Lizzy Lanigan’s judgement and she opened her purse again to retrieve one further shilling which she gave to the Romany.
After scanning her open palm for two minutes in silence, except for the occasional ‘um’ and ‘ah’, the gypsy eventually spoke.
“There are many things these lines tell me,” the traveller said in a mysterious voice as she ran her forefinger over Lizzy’s palm. “Too many interesting things; far more than I have seen before in one mere glance of a woman’s palm. They all concern your firstborn, and their firstborn. Your lines also reveal the number of children you will give birth to, and the number of children the firstborn of your firstborn shall have.”
“Yes…what?” Lizzy asked with a tone of excitement in her voice, adding, “Tell me more, please. Tell me more!”
“Which part of my prophecy do you want me to tell, Missus?” the gypsy asked.
“Why…all of it of course!” Lizzy replied.
“I can tell you about your firstborn for one shilling as we agreed,” said the gypsy, “but to reveal all will cost you another shilling; one shilling part prophecy or two shillings for a full telling!”
Having financially committed herself for two shillings already and being naturally eager to hear all there was to learn about her future family, Lizzy quickly got another shilling from her purse and placed it in the gypsy’s hand, while eagerly opening her own for her palm to be read.
“You will give birth to your firstborn within the year and the child will be a girl called ‘Mary’, named after the Blessed Virgin. This daughter of yours will be no ordinary child. She is destined to be born a ‘special’ child.”
“She will be born the first of seven children you will give birth to, and when Mary’s time comes around for her to give birth, she too will have seven children. Her firstborn will also be a girl; a ‘special’ child called ‘Mary’. And so, the wheel of fortune will turn. Each firstborn of seven will give birth to another seven offspring and all firstborn from their line will be born girls, named Mary, and marked out as ‘special’ children throughout their lives.”
Lizzy could hardly believe what she was hearing as the Romany spoke. “You say I will have seven children in total?” Lizzy asked.
“Yes!” the travelling gypsy confirmed. “Seven healthy children. But, be warned,” the gypsy said in a more solemn tone of voice, “should you tell another living soul about this prophecy other than your firstborn child after she has reached the age of seven years, or she, hers, and so forth, then the line of ‘special’ legacy will be broken and never re-established! The firstborn breaking their silent oath, instead of being blessed shall be cursed, and will stay cursed until full atonement has been made!”
After her reading, the gypsy quickly let herself out of the yard gate she’d entered by without allowing Lizzy to ask any follow-up questions.
For the next two hours, Lizzy Lanigan was on cloud nine. She was bursting to tell her husband the good news delivered to her by the peg-selling gypsy, but then remembered that what had been foretold would never happen if she ever told the prophecy to another living soul except her firstborn.
When her husband Mick got home from work, Lizzy made him a mug of tea to have until the colcannon she’d prepared for his meal of the day was ready to eat.
That night when the couple retired to bed, the newly-wed Lizzy Lanigan was most certainly ‘up for it’ and took no persuading at all letting her husband Mick have his wicked way with her. All night long, she thought about the gypsy’s prophecy and believed that before the year was out, she would be the mother of a ‘special’ child!
The gypsy was dressed in garments made from a rough-sacking material that had either been fashioned and designed for hard wearing whatever the weather or made to illicit sympathy from the householders she sold her wares to. Given her hard life travelling the road, it was difficult to know if she was in her forties or fifties. Her skin was the colour of Mediterranean brown and her black hair that reached down to waist level was the longest Lizzy had ever seen.
“Hello, Missus,” said the gypsy woman politely announcing herself. “Will the pretty lady buy some pegs from a true Romany?” she asked.
Lizzy was somewhat amused at the way the gypsy had phrased her question; ‘Will the pretty lady buy some pegs?’ as opposed to, ‘Does the pretty lady want to buy some pegs?’
There appeared to be an unspoken understanding that were any pegs bought that afternoon, they would be purchased because of ‘who’ was selling them, as opposed to whether they were needed or not!
Lizzy had been reared in a household seeped in superstition and Irish folklore. One thing her mother had always impressed upon her was never to turn away a true Romany empty-handed if you wanted to avoid bad luck for the next seven years. Lizzy had grown up being repeatedly told that to offend a true Romany was to invite a lifelong curse, whereas to offer kindness often resulted in a blessing and good fortune for the immediate year ahead.
Being unaware whether the woman was a true Romany or just a travelling tinker masquerading as the genuine article, Lizzy decided to play safe. She opened her purse and finding it two-thirds empty, she placed one shilling in the gypsy’s hand and bought six wooden clothes pegs.
“You can have a reading for another two shillings,” the traveller said, adding, “Rosie’s readings have never been known to be wrong!”
Lizzy looked inside her purse to check its contents once more. She still had another two days to get through on the little money she had left until Mick’s next wage was due. Her purse contained coins totalling five shillings and tuppence; every penny of which was needed for food, plus other essential items.
Just as Lizzy was about to decline the reading of her palm and the telling of her fortune; sensing that she was only going to get one shilling from this house, the gypsy said, “Okay then, Lady. Today’s your lucky day. Cross my palm with one more shilling only and I’ll tell you about your firstborn.”
The mention of her ‘firstborn’ was enough to sway Lizzy Lanigan’s judgement and she opened her purse again to retrieve one further shilling which she gave to the Romany.
After scanning her open palm for two minutes in silence, except for the occasional ‘um’ and ‘ah’, the gypsy eventually spoke.
“There are many things these lines tell me,” the traveller said in a mysterious voice as she ran her forefinger over Lizzy’s palm. “Too many interesting things; far more than I have seen before in one mere glance of a woman’s palm. They all concern your firstborn, and their firstborn. Your lines also reveal the number of children you will give birth to, and the number of children the firstborn of your firstborn shall have.”
“Yes…what?” Lizzy asked with a tone of excitement in her voice, adding, “Tell me more, please. Tell me more!”
“Which part of my prophecy do you want me to tell, Missus?” the gypsy asked.
“Why…all of it of course!” Lizzy replied.
“I can tell you about your firstborn for one shilling as we agreed,” said the gypsy, “but to reveal all will cost you another shilling; one shilling part prophecy or two shillings for a full telling!”
Having financially committed herself for two shillings already and being naturally eager to hear all there was to learn about her future family, Lizzy quickly got another shilling from her purse and placed it in the gypsy’s hand, while eagerly opening her own for her palm to be read.
“You will give birth to your firstborn within the year and the child will be a girl called ‘Mary’, named after the Blessed Virgin. This daughter of yours will be no ordinary child. She is destined to be born a ‘special’ child.”
“She will be born the first of seven children you will give birth to, and when Mary’s time comes around for her to give birth, she too will have seven children. Her firstborn will also be a girl; a ‘special’ child called ‘Mary’. And so, the wheel of fortune will turn. Each firstborn of seven will give birth to another seven offspring and all firstborn from their line will be born girls, named Mary, and marked out as ‘special’ children throughout their lives.”
Lizzy could hardly believe what she was hearing as the Romany spoke. “You say I will have seven children in total?” Lizzy asked.
“Yes!” the travelling gypsy confirmed. “Seven healthy children. But, be warned,” the gypsy said in a more solemn tone of voice, “should you tell another living soul about this prophecy other than your firstborn child after she has reached the age of seven years, or she, hers, and so forth, then the line of ‘special’ legacy will be broken and never re-established! The firstborn breaking their silent oath, instead of being blessed shall be cursed, and will stay cursed until full atonement has been made!”
After her reading, the gypsy quickly let herself out of the yard gate she’d entered by without allowing Lizzy to ask any follow-up questions.
For the next two hours, Lizzy Lanigan was on cloud nine. She was bursting to tell her husband the good news delivered to her by the peg-selling gypsy, but then remembered that what had been foretold would never happen if she ever told the prophecy to another living soul except her firstborn.
When her husband Mick got home from work, Lizzy made him a mug of tea to have until the colcannon she’d prepared for his meal of the day was ready to eat.
That night when the couple retired to bed, the newly-wed Lizzy Lanigan was most certainly ‘up for it’ and took no persuading at all letting her husband Mick have his wicked way with her. All night long, she thought about the gypsy’s prophecy and believed that before the year was out, she would be the mother of a ‘special’ child!
